Nick's grandmother (the one on his father's side, the one his parents are staying with)'s best friend passed away Sunday. Four years ago on the 15th, Nick's grandfather (her husband) passed away.

So at 9 Sunday morning, we all got up and drove up to the house to basically house-sit while Grandma got out.

I got to see the house in daylight on Sunday. I don't know what was the worst thing to see: how small the hole is...the hole that used to be the house, the steps that led to the front door that are now cement steps to nothing, how little is left or the charred leaves and grass surrounding the house, the charred path carved out behind the house to the man who started it all, the ash that threatened to jump the road to take out another house. I don't know.

I think I was in shock before then because Sunday night it really hit me that it was all gone. And Nick's parents are spending their days making lists of everything they had, trying to remember everything they lived with, how old it was, where they bought it and quoting things that have no price. Things like Nick's grandfather's woodworking tools, the baby clothes, his great-grandmother's handmade quilts, his grandfather's guns, the bunk bed his father made, his mother's wedding dress, Jess' cake and all the pictures of everyone and everything.

I feel like I need to be helping out more but there's nothing we can do. I can make food, I guess. I can give hugs. But these lists, the insurance stuff, everything. I can't help.